


The Very Memory of You

by AlaskaRogers



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Okay but for real the dog dies, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlaskaRogers/pseuds/AlaskaRogers
Summary: James Barnes loved and lost Steve Rogers. The Winter Soldier had gotten out of the life of being an assassin. Now Hydra wants to force his hand and bring him back to the fold. What James finds when he returns to his old life is more than he ever expected.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36
Collections: Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020





	1. The Past and the Present

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Jazz hands. Here we are on our bullshit. :) This year has been one heck of a ride and I'm fairly proud of myself for actually following through on this. The Not Another Stucky Big Bang was meant to challenge myself to get back into the swing of fandom type things. And then...2020 happened. So getting all the way here has been a journey and a half.
> 
> I'm so thankful for my artist, deisderium. She's so talented and her art is so lovely. She and the rest of the mods at the NASBB have done an amazing job in such a strange and stressful time.
> 
> Please note that this is a John Wick AU and that the warnings in the tags are important to keep in mind.

James' eyes open slowly as the alarm clock blares and he doesn't move for a long few moments before he reaches for the racket and shuts it off. His body feels heavy and he absently thinks, in an oddly detached kind of way, that he's never felt this way without a concussion before. Grief it seems slams harder than any bullet he's taken. He does eventually sit up, then stand, then move to the bathroom for a shower. His movements slow and purposeful. Mechanical. Steve hates that. James winces away from the thought, almost able to hear the good-natured ribbing as clearly as the water hitting the floor of his shower. 

"Buck, stop thinking of yourself like you think of the damn car. I don't care if you have a metal arm." 

The ghost of a statement, the ghost of a sentiment, Bucky's body sags in the shower and he stays on his feet, but it is a near thing. The weight of loss is unbearable, but Steve would want him to keep going. Even with Steve gone the idea of letting him down is impossible. Unbearable. So, Bucky washes his hair, brushes his teeth and gets himself dressed for the day. The same way he has for the past week and a half. 

He absently pulls his hair back and lingers over the wristwatch, not his style at all. In all honesty, not his watch at all. But Bucky knows it as if it was his own because it is Steve, Steve, Steve all over. Older and worn but meticulously cared for by someone that knows how to treasure the few things he has. Bucky wears it because it is something tangible, something to be kept close. A weight on his wrist that won't take the place of that large hand holding his, but will at least remind him that Steve was real. Steve was there. Steve chose and loved him until his last breath and Bucky can't think about that right now. But there's something in that knowing that both crushes and lifts him. 

James shakes his head and makes a face at his own thoughts as he numbly finishes buckling the watch and steps into his shoes. He is due at the funeral home soon. He's opted for a closed casket, hasn't been able to bring himself to look at the body. Because James knows death and dead bodies like a mechanic knows a car. He knows how they handle and what they look like. Even the idea of seeing Steve in that way causes something within Bucky freeze in horror. The stillness of death is for jobs and marks and men who have no names just motives. Not for Steve. Not for the man Bucky has shared his life with these past few years. Steve is constantly in motion. Constantly doing something or saying something. He is fire and passion. Steve is a life Bucky never thought he would have. 

There's a strangled breath and it takes a blank moment for James to realize that is him. That is his lungs laboring to bring air in and out and he's somehow made it to the kitchen table, breathing labored as he comes back to his body in inches. 

Comes back to the reality that is Steve is in a box. 

He has somehow spent half an hour staring at the wall and not getting anything done. James' teeth grit in frustration with himself as he forces his breathing to regulate, forces his mind to come back to his body. To inhabit the space that is now. He is due at the graveyard and he will not be late to telling the only person he can remember loving him good-bye. 

He moves to his door and pauses as he realizes for the first time that it is raining. There's something appropriate about that to James, considering how many times Steve had tugged Bucky outside to lay in the rain and listen to what he described as new beginnings. Maybe if rain is good for beginnings it is good for endings. 

Either way, James reaches for his coat and umbrella before stepping outside. 

#

It isn't often anymore that James is taken off guard, a lifetime of training is meant to prepare to prepare an assassin for most situations. Hours of drills and lessons in body language and hand to hand combat are supposed to mean that surprising one of the top assassins in the world is near on impossible. All that said there's something very disconcerting about the small blond setting his bourbon, neat, in front of him without a word being said from either of them. James' gaze skates over the honey blond hair, blue eyes, strong jaw and the trail of tattoos that snake along the skin of his neck and under the collar of his shirt. 

The smirk he's met with causes him to blink and the deep voice is teasing when the stranger speaks, "Gonna pay, pal?" This causes him to blink again, this guy, this definitely new guy does not know who he is but he does know his drink. Which is not the order things usually followed for him these days. He realizes that he's taking longer than most would and he nods, takes a coin out and slips it across the bar without saying anything and the stranger's smirk melts into an actual smile as his eyebrows go up, "This'll cover you for the night, I'll be back in a while to see if you need topped off." 

James blinks as a voice calls "Steve! We need..." he isn't paying attention to the rest of the statement as the blond turns away and sends him a last nod before going back to doing his job for people who are not James Barnes. His brow furrows as he belatedly takes a sip of his bourbon and watches, grunting softly to himself at the thought of a Steve and how he's supposed to feel about this development. 

His gaze only drops when blue eyes meet his own and crinkle in amusement. James cannot remember the last time he blushed but it certainly feels like a lifetime ago. 

# 

Later James wouldn't be able to remember the drive to the cemetery. Wouldn't remember getting out of his car and making his way to the grave site. There is no open casket, no wake, no long service of people standing in a church making speeches about Steve's life. Just a few former co-workers, mutual friends of theirs and a nervous looking priest. Doc Erskine had died not long after Steve and James knows that his husband had no other family. Knows that Joseph and Sarah Rogers are in plots not far away and that Steve's been on his own almost as long as James has been. James shakes his head. Steve isn't on his own anymore, because whatever happens after you take your last breath he's there and James refuses to believe that's alone. 

But thinking of Steve in the past tense tears at something in James every time he remembers and- 

Natasha is at his elbow, grace personified. Immaculate, as always, in her black trench coat, slacks and graceful gloves holding her umbrella close. Her crimson hair a splash of color in the bleak gray that makes up James' life at this moment. But her expression is not it's normal placid neutral he's used to when she's being professional, or the sneaky grin she gives when they've made a successful hit and are on their way to celebrate an impossible job made possible. No, her expression is pale and drawn and James knows deep in his bones that she's been crying. 

Even through his own grief numbed state that disturbs him. Black Widows do not cry. 

Then again the same could be said for The Winter Soldier. But he knows his face would be similar to hers. 

"James." 

Her tone cuts through his thoughts and he shakes his head slightly, "Natalia." 

An eyebrow quirks at him, "He wanted me to make sure you kept going. Found good things in life again." Her tone is hard to read, "I don't know why he thought...I would be able to do that for you. But if you need me you have my number." She pauses and her expression goes taunt, "If you feel like you're going to do something irreparable he would want you to call me. Keep that in mind." 

James grimaces. They both know the chances of him calling are low, but the reminder that Steve wouldn't want Bucky to end things for himself is not necessary. But helpful. 

He lets out a slow breath, "If it comes to that I'll call." 

"See that you do." Her tone isn't cold. But it is detached. Like she also doesn't know how to process this level of loss. 

They lapse into silence then. Because it is easier. Because who has words for this? But Natasha stays, long after the others are gone and if her hand is in his by the time they make their way out of the graveyard? No one with an ounce of intelligence will comment on it. 

  
Art by [Deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium)

# 

It's been a week. 

James closes his eyes as he leans back into his chair with an unhappy squelch, grunting softly as the very act of relaxing causes his cold muscles to protest. 

It has been a year. 

He rubs a hand along his brow and blinks at the tug of the scabs on his face. He knows that if he goes to his room he will not eat before passing out. The last three times that happened he lived to regret it deeply. So here he is. Dripping blood, grime and all at the Shield bar waiting for someone to bring him food. 

It has been a life. 

He opens his eyes and lifts his chin at a voice he knows and blinks up at the blond. Steve. Who is not behind the bar but here and frowning down at him. "Hey, I was gonna bring you a drink, but I'm pretty sure you should be in bed." The teasing tone Steve had opened with their first interaction was gone, and all there is in his voice is a soft note of concern that has James confused. 

He shakes his head shortly, "Dinner. If I sleep without food..." 

He trails off because Steve is nodding, "Alright. That's fair enough. I'll put an order in for the stew for you." 

James frowns and sits up in his chair with another grunt but without a wince, "I always have a burger-" He is not fond of how whiny his tone sounds and the increasingly familiar voice cutting him off is, almost, a blessing. 

"Don't be stupid." Steve sounds almost amused and James is again reminded that somehow this kid doesn't know who he is, "I see that bruise on your jaw. Chewing isn't gonna be fun right now. Stew is just as much protein but it's easier to chew." His lips tilt, "Don't worry, I'll say it was your idea. Since everyone seems to know who you are, we wouldn't want to affect your image." 

He's leaving before James can say anything, and he's left blinking again. But he finds himself smiling to himself, wondering when the blond will realize who he's dealing with. 

Later a waitress brings him stew and a mug of steaming bourbon, James catches Steve's eye and the blonde's look clearly dares him to complain. The hot toddy and food warm him from the inside out and by the time James makes it to his room old Doc Erskine is there waiting to patch him up. 

James never called him and he doesn't know what Steve's playing at. 

# 

It's half past three in the morning and James is only mildly surprised that there's no one behind the desk when he enters the lobby. He sighs and shakes his head, he'll call down once he wakes up to have someone look at the cut freely bleeding on his forearm. 

He jerks lightly at the familiar voice saying "Hey!" and he turns to look, blinking. He's at The Shield. He's not supposed to have to keep his senses at 11 here. But there's Steve, messenger bag slung over his shoulder and dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tank top with a pokeball on it of all things. 

Off work then. James blinks and his head tilts as he glances around until it becomes obvious that the shorter man is indeed talking to him. And frowning at him. And James isn't so sure why he reacts so negatively to this virtual stranger looking at him like that, but he'd really rather Steve stopped looking like someone had insulted his mother. 

But while James was musing Steve has started moving towards him, and suddenly the man was looking up at him fiercely, "Why're you always bleeding when I see you?" 

And James is taken aback. Again. And just stare down at Steve, wordless before finally, "Kid. Are you aware of where you work?" 

Steve blinks and nods, "Yeah, but you're James Barnes. People have things t'say about you. But you're always bleeding all over the place." He points at James' arm, "That's going to need seeing to but you weren't even stopping to ring for the concierge." 

And James is reeling. He just slowly shakes his head, "I'd like to sleep first. And that just seems like..." He trails off with a frown of his own before settling on, "effort." 

Steve is shaking his head, "That's just asking for an infection. Here... d'you...want me to come help? My mom was a nurse. She assisted Erskine until she died last year. So, cleaning a wound isn't a big deal. There's no effort involved if I'm already here and willing." 

James isn't sure why he slowly nods other than it has the desired effect of some of the lines smoothing out on Steve's face as he nods back and heads towards the elevator. Together. 

Steve doesn't stay long that evening, just long enough for James to take a shower and to disinfect the cut on his arm and another few scrapes James hadn't noticed getting. Steve's tone as he works is soft and James is almost dozing towards the end. 

Eventually Steve pats his arm over the bandage and stands to go, "Next time you come back and no one is at the front desk let one of the girls at the bar know. They'll know where to get me. If I can't handle it then I can figure out getting the doc here. It isn't effort if it means you get the help you deserve." His tone is firm but there's a gentleness to the last tug on the bandage. 

James just blinks at his back as the blond leaves his room and the door clicks, leaving him to go to bed and wonder where that all came from and why he never mentioned to Steve that his body would heal itself before morning. 

# 

Life without Steve stretches in front of James. He knows time passes, technically, and he knows that Steve would be worried at the state he's in. But in his bleaker moments he likes to muse that he hasn't put a gun to his mouth yet so Steve realistically couldn't complain too much. 

Except he would complain. At length. Because Steve Rogers had made it very clear to James that he wanted James to live once he was gone. To find joy again and to never go back to what he'd been before they both got out. 

So, James doesn't do what would be the easiest, doesn't go back to work or find his own quiet end somewhere. 

But living for someone's memory hurts like an infection. Like the sorrow is just backing up and making James sick with it and he's never felt like this before. Never been close enough to someone to mourn this way. Never felt so bitter that his best would be such a disappointment to Steve. 

So, he forces himself to take care of himself. Showers and food and long drives in his car. But even with those he has to be careful because he catches himself going too fast. Tries to keep himself functional and bring himself to find a therapist. Which wouldn't be hard. Natasha would find someone if he asked. But he's just not ready to try because he can't seem to find the point. 

Without Steve there to actually be disappointed what is to keep James from wallowing in this grief. Besides, he's earned it. 

# 

This give and take becomes a pattern. A job gets complicated and James is bleeding when he comes back to his hotel room. Just to find an irate Steve in the lobby, seeming to almost lay in wait. James complains that Steve must never go home if he's always there to catch James coming in bleeding, Steve just tuts back at him that he's one of the few on-site staff members that gets a studio apartment in the basement. So really James is stinking up his house with blood. James just grunts at that. Frustrated that there's really nothing he can do to seemingly get the blond to leave him alone. Even more frustrated that he can't bring himself to want to. 

When he actually tells Steve about his healing factor, he's surprised at the eyeroll and Steve's condescending "Why does that mean you should be in pain now?" 

It takes several times of James coming back and Steve finding him before the blond rolls his eyes and puts his number in James' phone. 

It is several more times before James uses it of his own volition. 

5 am and Steve stands before him bleary eyed and in what probably passes as pajamas for most people. James isn't sure if the way his stomach flips is from the head wound or from the way Steve is blinking up at him. 

"James..." He sighs and yawns again as he shuffles James into the room again. 

James obediently sits and lets Steve fuss over him, yawning the whole time. Eventually James reaches out to touch Steve's arm softly, uncertain of why he does it but Steve pausing to look down at him has his breath catching. 

Steve smiles down at him softly and reaches out to rest a hand on James' hair, "I wish you'd be more careful of yourself." 

And that has James surging up to kiss him roughly. The blonde's hands flail a little before settling against James' shoulder's lightly as he kisses James back. He'll gentle the kiss slowly, drawing himself closer as he deepens the kiss. 

It doesn't take long to break but James presses their foreheads together and his breathing is a little more rough than usual. Steve's hands smooth over his shoulders, soothing, James clears his throat, "I'd like to see you when I'm not bleeding sometime." 

Steve grins down at him easily and runs a hand through his hair, "Then text me sometime when you're not bleeding." His tone is teasing and James leans up to catch his lips in another kiss. 

# 

It's late when the doorbell rings and James honestly isn't even sure what he'd been doing. The rain has stopped and the delivery driver who meets him at the door is unimpressed but seemingly affable. She still doesn't give him much time to discuss though, just shoves a clipboard at him for his signature and walks away. Leaving what James is realizing is a kennel behind. 

It's strange because he knows who did this without looking at the card. Knows who would send him a dog. It's a dog. A dog that isn't even being quiet about how unhappy it is about the confines of the kennel. 

He brings the dog inside and opens the door with an almost shaking hand. The puppy, and god Steve would get him a fucking Puppy to take care of when he can barely remember to take care of himself, tumbles out of the kennel immediately. It is a corgi all blond enthusiasm as it skids out onto the hardwood floor and begins exploring. 

James has gone still, flashes of Steve's wistful face when he talked about them getting a dog. Bemoaning his own allergies and repeating that a cat just isn't the same. This aches but in a different way, and James isn't built to navigate this kind of pain easily so it takes him several minutes to reach for the attached card and again he has to stop. 

Steve's handwriting is on this card. 

Steve wrote him a message. 

Steve is giving him one last thing even when James thought he could do no more. 

The card is simple:   
  
"Take her to the Grand Canyon. Take her to the Gulf of Mexico. Take her to see the Eiffel Tower. Take her on the adventures we would have had. Remember the good times. 

I love you." 

James realizes he's crying as the dog finally finishes her inspection of the room and moves back to him to settle her chin on his arm, entire body pressing against him as she tries to get his attention. His hand automatically moves to sooth her, scratching gently behind her ear as she all but climbs into his lap. James wipes his face with the hand not petting the dog before pulling her into his lap properly to inspect his new charge. 

He huffs a breath and rolls his eyes when he sees her name tag has "Freedom" listed. He grumbles softly to the dog as she continues to lick his chin happily, not caring in the slightest that he's grumpy. 

"C'mon. Steve might be a nerd but at least he sent you with some supplies." The words feel awkward on his tongue, but so does not speaking to the animal at all. He stands and she hops happily around his feet. 

He gets 5 steps before she nearly trips him and James is cursing. Loudly. 

# 

The next time one of them is bleeding it is Steve and he's spitting mad on top of it. 

James has to keep his own knee jerk reactions in check as Steve paces his small studio ranting about some guy that he'd gotten in a fight with at a club across town. The black eye and scrapes across Steve's cheeks and arms are prompting something visceral in his gut, but from what Steve is saying it could have been much worse for him and his friends. 

"You know you only gotta ask and I'll take care of him Steve." James' tone is even, "Only reason I haven't already left is you need tending to." 

James sometimes looks at Steve and wonders how this started. How someone with the heart Steve has looked at the wreck of him and thought he was worthy of anything soft. Steve has always been soft hands cleaning his wounds or a firm voice reminding him to take care of his body. So, he doesn't expect the expression Steve turns on him, seething and familiar and dark in a way James knows in his gut. His tone is even when he responds, but there's anger as a foundation there that James knows so well. "James. He tried to roofie Janet. He damn near succeeded and then got away with it. It definitely ain't the first time he's done it." 

James slowly grins and it's predatory, "I've been a lot of people's fist Stevie." He stands and moves to Steve, hands soothing along his upper arms, "Lemme be yours. If only this once." 

It's hours later when James leaves Steve in bed to find the man. It isn't difficult, Steve caught his name and he's a low-level enforcer for a smaller gang in Queens. Steve is also correct, as usual, and James can see from the half empty pill bottle that he's a repeat offender. Bucky twists the knife in the man's gut instead of the promised clean kill. Steve just wanted him off the streets, but Bucky sees his sister's face in the sinister bottle of rohypnol sitting casually on the bathroom sink and wants him to suffer. He hears her crying and remembers how helpless he felt as the man pleads. It is a slow death and painful as he wonders how many pills were slipped into glasses without Steve's trained eye to catch them. 

James stays once the man passes out and continues to bleed out, unwilling to risk him waking and calling for help. But also, not willing to cut this short, every ounce of pain is deserved. He casually cleans his knife and washes his hands as the twitching stops. He flushes the drugs but leaves the empty pill bottle on his body. 

A signal. A warning. James wonders if the rest of the gang will take it for what it is. In the end it won't matter. 

Steve is in bed when he gets back to the Shield, curled around one of James' pillows and facing the wall. He makes no move to turn over at the sound of James entering the room but his tone is bleak. 

"Is it done?" 

James sits to begin taking off his shoes, "He's dead." 

Steve sits up and looks back at James, the shadows of his bruises lost in the dim light of the room and his expression is unreadable. James doesn't hesitate to go to him, despite the guilt beginning to bubble in his gut, and he slips to his knees beside the bed, "I'm sorry." His voice is rough and he's unable to meet the smaller man's gaze. 

Steve makes a soft, confused sound under his breath as hands tangle in James' hair, tilting his face up. James swallows before confessing softly, "I found the drugs. I couldn't make it clean. He suffered." 

Steve makes an almost punched out kind of sound at that but James' eyes open at the soft, vicious, "Good. He deserved it. You have nothing to be sorry about." Steve's expression is back to that dark thing from earlier in the evening and James melts softly as he allows his arms to wrap around Steve. Any guilt he'd felt at taking Steve's clean kill and making it dirty is leeching away as Steve kisses him roughly, hands pulling at him with increasing desperation. 

He allows Steve to pull him into the bed, allows himself to take what Steve offers and feels no shame at the relief flooding him that this thing between them isn't tainting Steve the way he'd feared. This small man might be full of kindness and righteousness but it isn't the purity James had thought. 

Later, they're moments from sleep and James' voice is hardly a whisper, "My sister called me Bucky." 

Steve's eyes blink open and crinkle at the corners, "Can I call you Bucky?" 

"Yes." Tension James doesn't know he'd been holding seeps from him, "Please." 

It's what the people he's loved have always called him. 

# 

  
Art by [Deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium)

Life with a puppy cannot wallow. Well, James muses as the dog who he refuses to call Freedom frolics in the backyard, it isn't that life could not wallow. So much as James cannot wallow with a puppy. It has been a few days and James can already see why Steve send her to him. 

Freedom is 6 and a half pounds of inquisitive energy that cannot be contained or left unattended. Moreover, she is there every time he begins to lose time. If his mind wanders away she's at his knee, elbow, shoulder, licking whatever skin is available to get his attention until he gives in to hold her. The holding doesn't last long during the day mind, she's a very active girl who has many things to investigate. 

James likes to watch her though, playing or sleeping or cuddling into the crook of his knee. Sometimes he looks at her and thinks that he might be able to see a way forward without Steve. That all those times in the hospital when Steve tried to convince him that the world wouldn't stop turning or that James wouldn't be alone once he was gone might have been true. That maybe even if he didn't get to have Steve for the rest of his life he could find other things to love and take care of. 

The Winter Soldier never felt hope, just determination. 

James Barnes is more pragmatic and prefers to plan. 

But Bucky sits in the sun and on the grass behind the house he bought with Steve and watches the dog Steve had daydreamed about chasing crickets and thinks maybe. Maybe hope is worth something. It won't bring Steve back, but maybe living for his memory won't be nearly as joyless as Bucky thought. 


	2. Deaths and Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Deisderium for the amazing artwork. <3 
> 
> TW: The Dog Dies in this chapter; it is nongraphic but if that's going to make you upset or triggered please take care of yourself.

A week passes. Then two. Freedom, and that name never stops James’ eyes from rolling, grows bigger and more inquisitive. James isn’t okay, but he’s learning the new normal. Walking his dog, feeding both of them, sleeping when she insists he put down his phone. And it makes so much sense that Steve knew James would need this with him gone. Steve always knew and James hates that he can’t say thank you one last time. 

He means to do his best to say thank you by living his best every day. Sometimes he fails, but he remembers Steve 

He’s not expecting company, hasn’t had any since the funeral and hasn’t particularly wanted any. Content to weather the storm of his emotions in the home he built with Steve. So the door bell ringing on a Monday at noon caused an eyebrow to raise, but James answers the door anyway. 

Of all the people to be at his door, smile slimy and terrible, Sitwell is the last that he’d expected. An old “friend” of his from before he left Hydra. James is on guard before he opens the door but the familiar face has him stiffening further, glad Freedom is in the backyard and not here to sniff out this man. 

“James.” Sitwell’s tone is almost pleasant, “So good to see you. I’m sorry to hear of your loss. Do you have a moment to chat?” 

James’ teeth are on edge before he ever finishes the sentiment, but he steps to one side to let Sitwell in. The only way he’ll be able to nip whatever this is in the bud is to hear the man out, even if the sight of him standing in front of Steve’s artwork on the wall makes James’ hands itch to punch. He doesn’t have the patience to let whatever this is linger. So James is wordless as he leads the way to the kitchen and gestures vaguely to the table, “Coffee?” The offer is a kneejerk reaction that feels stilted but he still reaches for an extra mug to offer the other man.

Sitwell takes a seat and James can feel him watching as the mugs are poured, “James. You must know that you are still lauded as the best in the business.” 

James makes a soft noise in the back of his throat at that but doesn’t take the bait, setting the coffee in front of Sitwell and stepping back again. James moves to lean against the counter, watching Sitwell as he sips his own coffee black. 

Sitwell clears his throat at the non-answer, “We were wondering if you had any interest of renewing your contract now that you are…well. Less distracted by your personal life.” 

“I got out for reasons Jasper.” James’ tone is harsh and he doesn’t care as he glowers at the other man, “That had nothing to do with being busy and you know it.” 

Sitwell flashes him a grin that makes James uncomfortable, “But we both know how you were built James. You hate to be useless. You must be feeling adrift. Hydra can provide structure. A renewed cause. A reason-” 

He breaks off abruptly at the sharp bark from the sliding glass door and Freedom is staring inside at Bucky, completely unaware and just scratching to get in. James' sends Sitwell a tight smile as he sets down his mug decisively, "I got out for reasons. And I don't need any causes or reasons or structure that Hydra provides. I define those things for myself. Have done for a while now." 

Sitwell stares at the dog incredulously and his tone is vaguely strangled, "Are you implying that dog is a cause more important than-" 

James makes a sharp gesture, "I'm sayin' a rat in the road would be a cause more important than Hydra. I'm not your fist or a soldier anymore. And if that's what you're wanting here then you need to leave. Because I won't be a puppet for Hydra again and I haven't been for a long time." 

They stare at each other for a prolonged moment before Freedom barks again, more sharply, and Sitwell stands. 

"I should be going." 

"Yes, you should." James walks him to the door and sends Sitwell one last look before he closes it, "Lose this address Jasper. This is your only warning." 

He locks the door and goes back inside to check on his dog, ignoring the slight swell of dread in his gut. He'll need to start formulating a plan to ensure Hydra won't track him down now that he knows they want their Fist back. He settles onto his couch and Freedom hops up to cuddle close and Bucky muses to himself that it doesn't quite matter what Hydra wants. 

# 

It takes two weeks for the attack to take place. A week for James to become paranoid and hyper vigilant. A week to slowly relax into his new routines and not become sloppy but...maybe complacent. Puppies do not handle lock down well. 

He's sleeping when it starts, but jolts upright breathing erratic as he looks around. The echo of an achingly familiar voice ringing through him like someone actually shouted "Wake up" in his ears. He doesn't have time to think too hard about that voice because he sees Freedom standing at his bedroom door, ears flicking back and forth as she clearly is hearing something. 

James sits slowly and eases himself out of the bed. He has enough time to snatch up the gun he keeps next to his bed but after that the fight melds into a blur. At some point during the fight James loses track of the puppy, too distracted by the men frankly trying to kill him. But the loud curse and yelp breaks his concentration enough that James goes down. Last thoughts a dreadful panic as he realizes what's probably happened. 

Dreams have never been James' specialty but since his time with the Red Room he's been worse. So often he wakes from long sleeps or being knocked out feeling as if he's lost time again and not like he's been resting. 

The immediate reaction to those moments is panic, how long has he been out? 

How long has he lost? 

What has he done? 

But this time it is fingers carding through his hair, which is a strange feeling even with how out of it James feels. He knows this though, knows this action in a way that aches. He blinks his eyes open and there he is. Steve smiles down at James and a large part of James revolts because this is impossible, but that part of him feels removed. Muffled. He ignores it, he can't remember why his body aches or why he feels like he's going to cry at the sight of his lover. Instead, James reaches for the blond with a shaking hand. 

"Steve..." 

Steve shakes his head slightly, "Hush. They got you good Buck. Stay still." 

James grunts, insult overriding the pain and how impossible this all is even as he subsides letting his eyes close again, "Fuck those guys." 

"Nah. That's my job." 

There's a beat and Bucky chokes slightly on his own laughter, "Steve. What the hell." 

Steve's expression is fond when Bucky looks back at him, "You need to remember this Bucky. Look at me. Find Sam. Find Sam and ask him-" Steve grimaces suddenly and jerks in a way that James knows. He frowns and starts to sit, ignoring the pain of his own ribs as he begins to sit up, "Bucky, please-" 

Then it all comes rushing back, why this is all so impossible. Why his body hurts. James ignores it and reaches out to Steve even as he dissolves in front of James. 

He wakes with a pained gasp. Steve's name on his lips as he starts to sit up and falls back against the floor. The first thing James registers after he wakes for real this time is pain. Ribs that are cracked will heal over the next several hours but they hurt hurt hurt as he groans and doesn't move to sit up again. He knows better, knows what being on the wrong end of a boot feels like intimately. It has been years though. He grimaces as he opens an eye and the dream slowly begins to slip from him now that he's conscious and focusing on his physical reality. The first thing he sees is the small form laying prone a few yards from him and the last of the dream slips away from him as he takes in the reality in front of him. 

Small and fragile and his. Gone. Again. He doesn't need the blood to know, doesn't need to look around at the mess of his home to feel it deep in his bones that this is personal. He hauls himself up and over to her and James' hand hesitates over her. He's seen bodies, he's touched bodies, as an assassin death is old news. As someone raised to be the Fist of Hydra cruelty is meant to be unsurprising. 

He's trembling as he takes her into his arms, his small bundle of hope and cuddles her close. This is different than the men and women he's killed somehow. It's bad business killing children and animals. Bad business is all Hydra had ever been. Bucky knew that, objectively, after years of attempting to escape their grasp. But this made it real in a way James hasn't felt since the last time he'd been wiped. 

Eventually, he stands still holding her. But it takes a long time to bury her, a long time to bring himself to lay her into the earth and say good bye. He thinks, remotely, that at least the sky had the grace to cry for Steve. That at least that day felt as miserable as it was. This secondary loss on a sunny Tuesday feels like a descent into something. He sits in front of the small hole for a long time, numb. 

The grief slowly bleeds into a familiar rage and James rises again, fists clenched. 

Hydra wants The Winter Soldier back? They'll have him but not how they're expecting. 

The rage fuels him through breaking into the safe of his equipment. Each swing a reminder of a stolen moment. Each jolt to his slowly knitting bones an underline on the knowledge that the only justifiable response is to destroy it. All of it. 

The suit fits as he slips it back on and James wonders how far he will get from being the man Steve taught him he could be. But the rage spurns him on to check his guns. To pack his coin. 

Steve is gone. All that's left is the memory and if Hydra wants James to finish Steve's battles? Then he will and he knows where to start. 

# 

Finding the closest safe house is easy. Some things never change and Hydra's practices is one of them. 

Same shady safe house, same shady guards, same shady para-military organization with designs on taking over the table and setting the world back a hundred years. James has never been a zealot. Never joined Hydra in the way that the men who stand outside this shotgun house in Queens have. 

James was born to be a fist for someone, or that's what his trainers told him anyway. An orphan with just his sister for family. The kind of child with just enough to lose that he fights but not enough to lose that anyone would come looking. He can hear them praising him now as he makes no move to attempt to avoid the guards. 

Hydra had just been the highest bidder, the first organization to see his potential beyond his initial jobs. The first to invest their time and science into making him a weapon of their own. It took Becca leaving to become a force in her own right and experiencing the world outside for James to realize how despicable Hydra was. 

The Winter Soldier ceased to be the Fist of Hydra long before he met Steve. But James didn't reclaim being Bucky until Steve loved him. 

Now, breaking the necks of the guards and stalking through the house, neutralizing foot soldiers in a way that feels as mechanical as loading his gun, he wonders if this is a trap. If Hydra knew he would be coming and set him up. 

But really, honestly, The Red Room trained him far better than the science of Hydra improved him. Because there is no trap, no waiting bait, as he makes his way through the house. He only stops when it is Rollins on his knees at James' feet spitting blood and cursing. 

James waits for him to finish. Unimpressed by the display or the ranting. Rollins has always been this way. Always been more bluster than substance. 

"Sitwell. Where is he." 

Rollins grunts, "You were meant to be the best of us. You were meant to-" 

Bucky is vaguely aware of stepping forward and pressing his gun to the man's temple, "Sitwell. Where." 

There's silence for a few long moments before Rollins lets out a long breath, "He knows you're coming. He...he's in Brooklyn. Waiting to prove to you that it's time to come back." James drops the gun and nods taking a step back. 

He's ready to go and leave Rollins to die slowly. Or not. The man's never been a big enough blip on his radar to be a concern. But the next words have ice flooding his veins and James stops short. 

"The blond bitch made you weak. We were always going to have our fist back one way or the other. But you got your dick wet and forgot the-" 

He's dead before he finishes the sentence and James is continuing back out of the house the way he came. 

Bullets are cheap, but the memory of Steve holding him close is not. His sense of self is hard won and bought with the patience of someone worth ten of Rollins easily. 

Worth ten of every man in the house. 

James almost sets the house on fire as he leaves but it's a bit dramatic. Even for him. 

He knows he can't go home though. Knows Sitwell will have men there soon enough to ransack the place. There's a grim kind of satisfaction in knowing that at least some of those men won't end well. 

But not being able to go home means James needs to go to the last place he wants to go. Where it arguably all started. 

Shield. 

#

Walking into Shield feels like a dream. Feels like the time spent away was a dream and he'd never made it out of the long game. The lobby is unchanged, the statues still gleaming and Coulson still standing behind the desk with his bland smile. James winces as he approaches the front desk, the familiar weight of eyes on him not enough to make him pause. He's limped into this lobby looking far worse. 

"Welcome back Mr. Barnes." 

There's no hesitation or judgment in his tone, but there's no concern either. But Coulson was never one for emoting that way, not with James or to James' knowledge. He pushes aside the phantom of Steve's amused stories about "Phil". He doesn't have time for that ghost yet. 

"Coulson." It's a terse acknowledgment and James feels briefly guilty, "Any vacancies for the night?" 

  
Coulson hums, "For James Barnes? Always." He taps away for a moment on his keyboard before looking back up at James, gaze moving over his body more slowly, "Are you back in the game then? I only ask because Fury will want to know if this is for business or pleasure." This time there is displeasure, Steve wanted him out of this. James wanted them both out of this. Coulson and Fury both knew that better than most people. 

James' shoulders stiffen and he shrugs, suddenly acutely aware of the rips in his suit and the blood on his knuckles, "Just tying up some loose threads Phil." 

Coulson nods and finishes typing, sliding a key across the counter towards him, "Your room is 616." He pauses as James picks up the key and his suitcase but before he's more than a few steps away Coulson speaks again, "I'll send your usual whiskey to your room along with dinner. And some supplies for your wrist to be wrapped." 

James looks back at the desk but Coulson isn't looking at him, gaze trained on the screen of his computer and expression back to his default bland pleasantness. James feels something curl in his gut because he knows this routine, remembers Steve ribbing the staff for knowing him so well. There won't be any running from ghosts here anymore than there was at the house they'd built together. 

"Thank you." 

He pauses as he hears his name and turns to see Batroc heading his way. James' shoulders only relax a fraction, he's never trusted the shorter man, but they were colleagues of a sort, on friendly enough terms last James saw him so James pauses to see what he wants. 

"James! You look no different than the last time I saw you." The French lilt to the mercenary's tone is too light, too casual. James looks nothing like he did the last time they worked together. 

He just stares at Batroc for a moment before raising an eyebrow, "I dunno about all that. But it's good to see you well. Not even bleeding." 

Batroc barks a laugh and James is set more on edge, "It is good to see you again, my friend. I had no idea you were back in the game." 

"I'm not back in the game. Just. Tying up some loose threads before finishing my retirement." He sends Batroc a tight smile as he waves off the other man's disbelief. The words feel less certain in his mouth the second time around. 

The room is predictably not the suite he'd practically lived-in years prior. Smaller and less lavish in its furnishing but the sheets held the same familiar laundry smell. The whiskey and food could have been a meal shared with Steve after a mission and there's a small part of James that numbly is waiting for his husband to join him from the bathroom. 

Sleep doesn't come easy and he lays for a long time in the dark. But eventually his aching body requires rest to stitch itself together and he nods off. 

# 

Dreams. 

Again with dreams. 

Hands on his shoulders as a familiar form nestles close. Bucky's arms go around Steve automatically, even as he's distantly aware this is wrong. This is impossible. That he will wake up with a mouth that feels like dust and eyes tear salty. But he pushes the logic away because this? This is all he's wanted. For weeks. If he loses a few hours to this? He won't complain. 

The hands keep him close even as the familiar voice sighs in his ear, "You never found Sam." 

"Don't want to talk about the birdbrain right now." Bucky just grumbles and shifts closer, "I want..." He trails off and Steve goes silent as well, just pressing a kiss against Bucky's hair periodically in a way he only ever did in life after Bucky came back to Shield especially bloody. It makes that removed part of Bucky ache with longing that he won't look at or touch right now. 

"Bucky. I don't have long and there's some things I need to say to you." His tone is sad and Bucky blinks as Steve pulls away to meet his gaze, it's uncanny because Steve has a beard. He's never known Steve to keep a beard and honestly Bucky has only stopped caring about his facial hair since...well that belongs with the things he doesn't want to remember yet. 

"Bucky. Focus sweetheart, this is important. You have to remember." Steve's tone is insistent and it pulls Bucky back to the moment, "What happened to Freedom was not your fault." That has Bucky pulling away, reeling as some of the mental walls crumble and oh god. 

The small nose pressing into his elbow. The small form forcing him out of bed and making him laugh on days where otherwise death might have seemed appealing. A small body in his arms not unlike the still form of his husband on a bed and- 

"Bucky." He looks back at Steve realizing that even in this liminal space that is not a bed or a couch or a room at all really he feels winded, "It wasn't your fault. If you want to avenge her, we both know that I'm not one to try and control that part of you but Hydra did that to manipulate you. They caused it. Not you. Don't carry that responsibility." A hand presses against Bucky's chest and Steve looks at Bucky imploringly, "You'll have time to mourn her. And you were doing such a good job with her, I can see that in your memories. I'm so glad she helped how I hoped she would and I'm so sorry they used her that way." 

Bucky's shoulder's slump and he stares at Steve wordlessly for a moment, "I don't know...how to navigate these things without you." And that's the truth of it. Steve has been the best of him since the moment they met because James was never Bucky unless someone was there to love him. He feels pathetic as he watches Steve's face fall, that familiar pinched look he gets when Bucky has accidentally said something upsetting. 

"Bucky, I'm so sorry. We didn't have time. You deserved the space and the therapy to work on that and I-" Suddenly something is wrong and Steve is pulling away, body twisting as his face darkens with a kind pain that Bucky's never seen on him. He's immediately reaching forward to Steve, hands soothing over his upper arms. 

"Steve what-" 

"Bucky- Please find Sam. Find Sam and tell him." Steve's voice is cracked and forced and his expression is desperate as he moves to cling to Steve, "Tell him it worked. Tell him-no!" 

The no is sharp but it's too late and Bucky's hand has already buried itself in Steve's hair, a desperate mirroring of the soothing motion Steve has given him so often. And Bucky is greeted with pain. Pain pain pain. Long silences and darkness and just a constant soul wearying pain. 

Bucky pulls back like he's been burned and Steve reaches for him again, "Tell Sam that they-" 

He's gone then. Without another word. Leaving Bucky standing there. He is aching with confusion as he looks around, confused at the lack of anything to ground him in this space. 

He goes over the conversation in his mind. Over and over and over because he forgets things. He forgets and he has no idea what Steve means that something worked or why he needs to speak to Sam but he feels in the very bones of his being that he must hold on to this. 

And then sound rips him awake and the conscious parts of his mind crowd in. 

  
Art by [Deisderium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium)

James jolts awake as a bullet enters the pillow an inch from his left ear and he immediately rolls off the bed. Instinct carrying him through the motion as his newly healed body avoids the second bullet that hits the mattress right where his chest had been. 

Batroc is in his room. Batroc is breaking the house rules. Batroc is not Hydra? James has very little time or mental space to consider these things too deeply as he fights. Very clearly for his life. Batroc is skilled, but all brute force. James has trained against his style of fighting for decades now. But James is tired, in his pajamas and for a second time in as many days taken off guard. 

Which really actually fucking pisses him off. 

He means to kill Batroc, really. But by the time the man is subdued and James is left panting over his prone form the phone has been ringing for several minutes. And that also really fucking pisses him off. 

He answers it without a greeting and there's a pause before Coulson's voice is hesitantly heard saying, "Hello sir, we've had several noise complaints from your floor and I-" 

Coulson breaks off as Bucky interrupts with a grunt, "Tell your manager he has rats. In my room." His tone is hardly more than a growl and he honestly likes to think it sounds menacing but Coulson doesn't seem phased in the slightest. 

"Rats are a very serious problem." He's all soothing night desk manager now and his tone is an attempt at comforting, "I will have a cleanup crew arrive shortly to handle the matter for you and Nick will be informed." There's clicking as Coulson types something, "Sir, please do have our most sincere apologies for the...disturbance." 

James hangs up. There's nothing else to say and honestly Fury will take this entire situation personally. Hydra has a history of flaunting Shield's rules. 

Batroc gets a last kick once James is dressed again. But there's nothing left here for him so James does the next most logical thing and investigates the bullet that woke him. 

He knows the gun and the casing immediately. 

#

Natasha is waiting in the alley next to the building exactly as James predicted. But after everything James can't help but approach with caution. Can't help but gaze at her sidelong because as much as he wants to believe in their friendship, he can feel the old paranoia creeping into his bones. 

She moves to lean against the building, managing to look natural even in an alley surrounded by trash and with James still healing, bruised, and disheveled. Her head tilts and her expression is unimpressed as she takes him in. 

"How much?" 

"4 million." Her tone is bored as she watches him, "They think you've gone soft. Offered me first dibs on the contract. Idiots." 

His eyes jerk to her face and he does is best to ignore the flash of insult but is sure his expression conveys it, "That's it?" 

She nods, "It will go up. We both know it will have to. And if they've found more people willing to break the House Rules..." She trails off, bored tone gone as the entire line of her body goes disapproving. "You told Phil I assume. He'll need to know in order for Fury to address the holes in his organization. Again." 

His gaze hasn't moved from her since she began talking but he blinks now. "The shot. That was you. You aren't here to take the contract-" He doesn't get through the words before breaking off. Natasha's air of dispassionate removal flickers and he can see that his surprise hurts her. He holds out a hand, consoling, "Natalia. You must know that I don't know who to trust anymore. I was just attacked in my bed at Shield." 

Natasha just watches him for a long moment, "I would not turn on you for 40 million." Her tone is thick and after a moment she shakes her head, "What's going on with you James. You don't respond to texts or calls for weeks and now you reappear and begin to take out the New York faction of Hydra. Which, need I remind you, is a pillar of the table?" She pauses and she's more collected when she continues, "I've been trying to give you space but now I hear rumors of a dog? You don't have a dog-" 

"It isn't just about the dog!" His tone is harsh and sharp, "For them it was never about a dog." He breaks off and takes a steadying breath, "Steve...made arrangements. Left her for me. I...as a coping mechanism I suppose but she was mine and all I had left of...of him." Steve's name sticks in his throat, and he blinks as he finally looks away from Natasha. "She was innocent. She was good. She made me remember that things could be good on bad days. She was a fresh start. And they killed her to make a point. To try to force me back into working for them." 

Natasha's silence is echoing as she listens, "You realize this will bring you back. That like it or not this is playing into their hands. You're declaring war on Hydra with this. It won't stop here, they're a pillar of the table." 

He looks back at her expression closed, uncertain of what to say. He's not had time to think beyond the first steps, this is about justice. But he can't deny that she's correct, he's playing into their hands but this is all he has now. He can still see her body in his arms. The rage that induces has been carrying him through, Natasha's cold logic makes his shoulders want to sag with exhaustion. A ghost of hands running along his shoulders soothingly has him shaking his head. 

"Natasha...I have to-" 

"You aren't the only one that lost Steve." 

This brings James to a stop, frozen as he stares at her. Somehow his own self-centered grief in stark contrast to reality now as he looks at her. He remembers in flashes Steve pulling Natasha in for hugs, braiding her hair while they watched movies, sullenly sitting with a wig on so she could style it more easily. And suddenly Sam comes to his mind, his habit of ruffling Steve's hair. His penchant for getting Steve to laugh even when he was his most sullen and his firm refusal to let Steve work the bar when his back was acting up. With Erskine dead Sam had taken over his duty at Shield as liaison with The Table, but James hasn't reached out once since Steve's funeral. Can't even remember what he said to Sam, if anything, that day. 

Natasha's tone is almost cruel when she steps away from the wall, "Steve hated Hydra. He loved you but he hated them. Partially because of what they did to you. What they did to us. But also because they're the worst of us. If they disrespected Steve's memory and are trying to lure you back in, we will burn them to the ground." 

James' throat is dry as he nods, "I'm sorry. I've been selfish. I forget..." He trails off, "I forget." 

Natasha's usually stoic expression twists and he sees Steve's friend more clearly than he has for months, "I know James, I understand. Steve did his best to remind us but we have to remind each other now. Stop acting like I'm an enemy. Stop leaving us to grieve without you. If you want to take on Hydra, we will burn them to the ground. Together. It is how Steve would have wanted it." 

James lets out a long breath and slumps against the wall. Ignoring how dirty it is and rubs his temple, frowning because what Steve wanted. And Sam. Sam is sticking in his mind. Something about Sam. He shakes his head after a moment, "Do you dream?" 

Natasha's perplexed expression would have been funny in any other circumstance, "Dream? I...no. You don't either? The repeated memory modification causes a specific kind of brain trauma...well. I suppose it would make more sense to say that we don't remember our dreams but that's honestly not something I've bothered to understand." 

James looks at her, still rubbing his head, "I've been having dreams about Steve. But. They're weird. He wants me to tell Sam something. Where is Sam?" 

Natasha blinks, "In his office? I guess. It's...well he hasn't been sleeping so he's likely there even with the time as it is. He hasn't spoken to me about what he's working on. Something Erskine left behind-"   
  
She keeps talking but James is holding the memory of the dream close to his chest. Afraid to lose it because something deep in his gut tells him this is vitally important. He has to remember. Which means he has to keep it close to himself or he'll lose it again. 

"I need to see Sam." He interrupts her and Natasha steps forward, a hand gently resting on his arm as she pulls him away from the wall. 

"We'll go see Sam together, James. You aren't in this alone any longer." 

He slumps against her slightly as her arm wraps firmly around his shoulders and guides him back to the hotel and towards Sam's office. 


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of human experimentation; fighting; general rumlow being rumlow. Bleh.

James can't remember the last time he sat in this office alone. Isn't honestly sure if he ever has. And looking around the room is confusing. Traces of Erskine are still littered around the room, decades of pulling double duty as resident doctor and representative of the table aren't going to be gone within a few weeks. But Sam has more than taken over the desk, an island of his own personality in a room that still largely feels like it belongs to a dead man. 

A dead man that practically raised Steve. 

Something about this begins to niggle in the back of James' mind, like a puzzle piece slowly clicking into place. And he shakes his head slightly, wishing Natasha would come back soon. For once she had been wrong and Sam had not been in his office. But he needs to talk to Sam. Now. Before he forgets.

Erskine hadn't been sick, but he had been old.  So James hadn't questioned the sudden heart attack mere days after Steve's death. His own heart had felt like it was going to stop at any time so why shouldn't someone else feel the same. 

Stupid, he realizes. Stupid and self-centered. He rubs his face, exhaustion weighing on his shoulders along with the new found guilt. He shut himself away in his house and left every relationship he had to rot. Grief had set into him like an infection and he only  hopes that a few weeks means he won't have lost more. 

The click of the door has him looking up and meeting Sam's gaze. Bucky vaguely wishes he hadn't, the sympathy written plainly there makes him want to punch. Or cry. Or both at the same time and James is not a complicated man but his relationship with Sam sure as hell is. 

"Hey man." Sam's tone is warm and Natasha slips into the room after him, closing the door firmly and locking it. 

James opens his mouth to speak then pauses, clearing his throat before trying again, "Hey yourself, birdbrain." 

"No way you fuckin' woke me up at..." Sam pauses to check his watch, eyebrow climbing, "Damn Barnes, it's 2 am. If you woke me up for that dumb old  joke I'm kicking you out." 

James huffs getting ready to make a retort but Natasha moves to him, a hand settling softly on James' shoulder, "Later boys. James, you needed to speak to Sam. Something about a dream." 

There's a moment of tension before James relaxes shaking his head, she was right. He'd nearly forgotten. 

So he explains, haltingly, the dreams  he's had since the night before. Dreams more than anything  he'd had since before the experimentation with Hydra. Since the countless times he traded his own memories for a livelihood. 

Sam has settled behind his desk, expression growing steadily  more grim as James speaks. 

Once James trails off Sam begins tapping his lip, thoughtfully, "Erskine...well. Abraham had a plan. An idea. We all...well we all knew how sick Steve was. But Abraham knew for years." Sam pauses to rub his face, "He wanted to save Steve more than anything. Not that we all didn't but...the fact that his original line of work was in medical research..." Sam trails off and makes a soft eh noise under his breath, "He thought he actually had a shot.

Sam goes quiet for a moment, "He reverse engineered your serum James. Steve and I told him it was...well for one it was an invasion of your privacy. For another it wasn't something Steve initially ever wanted. But at the end he was in so much pain. Erskine might have been able to convince him to try." 

The silence in the room is suddenly loud like a ringing bell and James vaguely feels like he's been sucker punched. Questions are ripping through his brain like bowling balls through panes of glass and he's not sure where to start to put them back together. 

How had Erskine reverse engineered the serum?

When would Steve have been able to make this attempt?

Where? 

Why hadn't Steve ever said anything to Bucky? 

And that last one crowds into James' brain. Inevitably leaving him in a spiral of his own confusion as he considers the ramifications of Steve agreeing to be a test subject without telling James. 

"James." Natasha's tone cuts through the brain fog and he looks to see her right there, gazing at him seriously, "Focus on me. I need you to take a deep breath." She takes one of his hands to rest on her chest and her gaze doesn't leave his, "Match your breathing to mine. No faster and no slower. You're having a panic attack." 

Sam is saying something but James is focusing on Natasha's instructions, vaguely amused that she thinks The Winter Soldier can have panic attacks. But...matching her breathing is difficult at first, and he's able to focus better the easier it gets. Sam is, predictably, taping the desk top now staring into space beyond James. 

James clears his throat, "So. If it worked..." 

Sam looks at him, expression grim, "If it worked then Hydra killed Erskine." He pauses, "If it worked Hydra has Steve." 

#

The shock of that statement rolls through James like electricity and he stares at Sam's face. Sam's face that looks drawn and ashen at the thought. Sam's face that holds no hint of a joke. James feels like he's under water. He begins to open his mouth but there's no words that are ready to come out and he just continues to stare at Sam. 

Natasha, however, does not stay silent much longer. Her tone is icy when she speaks, "Why didn't we know about this Wilson?" It's all Black Widow, all Red Room iron and James feels his back straighten even as Sam stares back at her calmly.

"We both know that you and James would have objected." Sam pauses and it's softer, "They didn't really think it could save Steve. They thought...that they could develop a treatment to help others going forward. It was an attempt to isolate the healing factor for just long enough to begin curing chronic illnesses. Even if Erskine sold it to the table as a new and improved serum." 

That strikes something in James because it smacks of Steve. Smacks of him giving his very last breath in an attempt to make sure someone else doesn't suffer because it would be the right thing to do. But James' mind is in a spiral. 

Steve alive. 

Steve alive with Hydra. 

Natasha and Sam have continued talking and it is getting heated, but James absently reaches up to touch the side of his head. Scars litter his scalp, he knows it. Steve mapped them often as he tried to calm nightmares. He looks up at Natasha, who is apparently heatedly debating if they should have had a say in the data surrounding their experiments being used. Sam just looks like he's ready to throw his hands up. 

James does not have time to analyze what Natasha is saying too closely, he has a sneaking suspicion he will have his own opinions on the matter going forward. But for  now he clears his throat, "Natalia." She breaks off, turning her glare on him and he stares her down, "They have him in the chair." 

She freezes and Sam does too. Both of them staring at him, horror dawning on their faces as his grim determination sets in. Natasha straightens from where she's ended up leaning over Sam's desk to face him now, "James. Why do you think that?" 

"The pain he felt at the end. I know it. Intimately." He pauses and stands, "Erskine would never cooperate with Hydra. But if Shield has rats..." He trails off, "I don't know what is binding us together. Maybe it is how the chair rewrites your memory. Maybe...I don't know. It doesn't matter. I've seen him. He's there and he is trying to hold them off as long as he can." 

Sam is frowning at him and Natasha has gone silent and for a long moment they stare at each other before Natasha nods, "Then we take him back and then we smoke out the rats." Her tone is grim and Sam nods.

"We need to bring Fury into this. He needs to know how deep Hydra goes in all this." Sam's voice is quiet but firm even as James makes a soft sound of protestation, "We need his intel James. We  need  it." 

It takes longer than it should for James to give in. Natasha's brutal reminder that every bit of help meant a minute less Steve spent in the hands of Hydra was the final nail in the coffin. James' finally relents, but ensures everyone knows how unhappy he is with the arrangement.

James does not go with them to Fury's office. Instead opting to sleep off his remaining wounds from the fight with  Batroc . He can't deny that he wants to see Steve again. Wants to tell him they're coming for him. 

Instead when he  sleeps he finds nothing. Nothing at all. Which terrifies James worse than anything else.

#

James has been a bullet in many people's gun. He promised himself when he got out with Steve that he'd never be a bullet again. But, all in all, the next morning when Nick Fury lays out the plan James is willing to go back on that promise.

He has a sneaking suspicion that Fury is using this as a chance to flush out his organization as much as he was in it to save Steve. But James doesn't care. Ends justify the means for him. And Nick Fury is definitely the resource Natasha promised he would be. Confirming that Erskine reported an attempt was going to be made shortly before his death, and a report that it had been a failure. The heart attack had been pushed through by a medical examiner that Nick wasn't familiar with and that trail would be chased up after Steve was "recovered". 

Moreover his team had already pinpointed the only known Hydra safe house that would be capable of housing a "project" of the size that they're discussing. It seems that Nick has been doing research on how to not only root out Hydra from his own organization, but also knock a leg out from under the table. 

Phrasing Steve's potential imprisonment and torture as a "project" is a phrasing that sets Bucky's nerves on edge. But if this is the  company he has to keep to get Steve back he's willing.

He's cleaning his gun and listening to the plan when a familiar voice has him looking up.  Rumlow and a few of his men are across the room and also being briefed by Maria Hill. With a flash of  memory he hears Steve's voice, rigid with anger, saying "Brock  Rumlow is a god damn snake Bucky. I don't know why the hell Maria or Fury keep him around but it sure isn't because they have any sense."

His gaze stays on  Rumlow with enough focus that he doesn't see Natasha sitting next to him until she reaches for his gun to begin calmly putting it back together. She slides it back across the table at him with a grave expression, "If he gets in our way or turns the way we both think he will you'll get the first shot. But if you do shoot to kill. Or I'll do it for you." 

Her tone is neutral and James nods. He watches her as she stands and walks away from him, blinking as he sees Sam approach her. He expects another confrontation between them but instead Sam's expression is careful as he says something quiet to her. James' head tilts curiously as he takes in Sam's hand resting on the dip of her hip without Natasha shaking him off. Another development he missed mired in his own guilt. 

He rubs the bridge of his nose, a blip of exhaustion in his determination. He doesn't know how to do this kind of  thing, Steve was the one good at maintaining connections. Maybe in another life he'd be able to ask Natasha how she was doing. When she'd started to let Sam see her weaknesses. Make sure he's holding her in ways that James never knew how to for Steve, but Steve always did for him. She deserves that emotional support.

He is struck with a sense memory of braiding Rebecca's hair. Of bright laughter as he teases and tugs gently on her hair. 

He shakes his  head, Rebecca's ghost wouldn't want him to leave Steve any more than he wants to leave Steve. He has to focus. Maybe once this is all  over he'll find time to become the person he could have been. Get out and stay out. Find time to be a person who can learn to be a good friend in return again. 

He's surprised though when as they're leaving Natasha falls into step beside him, tucking a hand into his as they step into the transport van. James doesn't react visibly but he does squeeze her hand, trying to convey how much he cares in that simple gesture. Natasha always understands, not like Steve but...maybe a little bit like Rebecca. She gives him a soft smile and squeezes his hand in return before pulling away to buckle her seatbelt. 

James looks back to see Sam also gazing at him, expression worried but guarded. Bucky  attempts to give him a smile but is aware that it is more of a  grimace . 

#

James is watching the traffic around their van carefully, not trusting that the intel of where they were going wouldn't be leaked to Hydra. Not trusting that they wouldn't be attacked on the way. But it is surprisingly peaceful. With the exception of a couple of agents getting slightly agitated. 

The closer they get to the safehouse Fury's men identified the more agitated several of them seemed. James' gaze lingered on them and wondered just how many of the sleeper agents Fury had been onto before all of this. 

The building in front of them is a nondescript office building, seemingly fronting as housing a small tech company. The facade doesn't last once the teams are inside. It begins like a standard operation. But slowly the double agents begin outing themselves and James is aware of several scuffles beginning as they reach the third floor. 

Which is of course when  Rumlow makes his move. James feels foolish as soon as it happens because he should have seen it coming, but he's so focused on finding Steve the thought of  Rumlow is far from his mind. They're alone between banks of servers  Rumlow lunges, crashing them into a machine. The scuffle between them is brief but violent. Ending with James on top of  Rumlow , pinning him to the ground by his neck.

Rumlow spits up into James' face and it's gratifying to see him miss and it fall back into his own face. He growls and James just shoves him again, "Where is Steve." James' tone is, if possible, more dangerous. 

"You're lucky the boss wants you alive."  Rumlow's voice is grating and James lets his hand clench more tightly, the choking sound gratifying, "Boss wants a set. Two super soldiers to take over the world."  Rumlow is clawing at James' arm between the words he's gasping out and James just keeps staring intently at him. 

"Steve. Where." 

The laugh  Rumlow gives is throaty as he seems to accept his fate, "Oh he's here. And he begged for you  y'know . Begged for his Bucky." The words are acidic, "Every time they took him  out he'd beg and cry. It was pathetic. And all he could say was your name towards the end." James is reeling, his grip faltering as the words work their way under his skin. And he can remember the pain of the chair. Can remember himself being ripped away. Steve feeling that and still pleading for him is-

Rumlow twists and James is taken off guard. The punch to his face causing him to pull back bodily as  Rumlow laughs and begins to sit up, following James as he backs away to try to right himself. Find something solid to hold on to. Find a way to regain his focus, but  Rumlow keeps speaking. "You really are  compromised aren't you? So much for The Winter Soldier. Brought low by a weak blond bastard then couldn't even keep him-"

There's a single shot and James looks up at Sam, whose expression is grim as  Rumlow slumps. Dead. "He never did know when to shut the hell up." Sam's tone is cold and not one James is familiar with, "Get yourself together. He was full of shit. The others are almost done with sweeping this floor and Natasha found Sitwell." The tone is kinder when he speaks again. 

James clears his throat and takes the hand Sam offers him. "By boss do you think he means..." 

"Alexander Pierce. This goes straight to their representation on the council." 

James grunts as he follows Sam out of the server room and down the hall to join Natasha. James doesn't know what he expects, but a staring contest between the two is not it. Natasha's expression doesn't change when they enter and her gaze doesn't leave Sitwell's face, " Rumlow handled?"

Sam snorts, "Dead." 

Natasha nods as Sitwell's expression pales, "Did he say where Steve was?" 

"No. But do we need him to? There's going to be some kind of basement, that has a hidden stairwell that's older than I am. It'll be a creepy looking lab that has no business existing. These idiots are the most predictable." Sam's tone is so done that James struggles not to laugh, "Realistically Natasha if we kill him it will only take a couple of extra hours to find. I don't know why you're bothering."

Sitwell clears his throat, and Natasha smirks, "The man has a point Jasper. Why am I bothering?" She stands, "Other than I'm sure you remember James. I seem to remember you taking something from him recently. Something precious." Her tone is almost gentle, "Now you can tell me where Steve is and James will be on his way and I'll handle disposing of you, or you can resist and I'll leave you to James' mercy." Her smile widens slightly, "Keep in mind Jasper. You didn't just kill his dog. You're also keeping him from his husband. I don't think he'll handle that very well, do you?" 

James knows to let Natasha work. Knows in his bones that she knows how to get results. But at the same time the only thing keeping him still is Sam's hand on his arm. Steadying. A reminder. 

Sitwell looks between Natasha and James and visibly deflates before clearing his throat, "Janitor's closet on the first floor has a false wall to the right. Behind the mop sink there's a door to-"

James doesn't wait. Why would he? Sam is right, as usual. James skids past other agents, Sam trailing not far behind him. He's distantly aware of a gunshot and Natasha's footsteps joining Sam's. He has a flash of regret but it was never just about avenging Freedom. Never just about tearing one man to pieces. 

#

Later James won't remember the stairs down to the first floor. Won't remember finding the janitor's closet or half ripping the door off of the closet wall. He will remember the stairs leading down. A tight spiral of concrete that sets his anxiety on edge as he barrels himself down, ignoring the sounds of the others behind him.

Because then the door is open and James is bursting into a lab. Almost exactly has Sam described. Old and poorly lit and creepy. But then his gaze is drawn like a homing beacon to Steve's face. 

Finally. 

It takes a moment for James to register that Steve is not in the chair and that his husband looks nothing like himself. If James didn't know the lines of Steve's face better than his  own he might not recognize him. The strange, broad frame is held in the what looks like a cryochamber that wasn't frozen completely and the familiar jaw has a beard that Steve's never bothered with before. But the crown of metal and wires along Steve's temples has James' moving forward without any further hesitation. He knows that hardware, remembers it lowering over his own head more than he remembers a good portion of his life. 

He hears Sam's voice telling him to stop but James pays him no mind as he swings himself up onto the dais that the chamber is on. There is no waiting. Not now. James' hand clenches in the door of the chamber and he pulls ignoring the cacophony of voices surrounding him. The metal groans as James' teeth clench as he pulls harder. The pained expression on what he can see of Steve's face telling him all that he needs to know. 

The  metal's will bends before James' and the chamber pops with a hiss and a rush of freezing liquid. 

It hits James square in the chest and is so cold it burns. It doesn't make him pause  though, he's reaching for Steve. Supporting the unfamiliar weight as the unconscious body slumps forward into him. Steve takes a shuddering breath as James begins deftly but carefully unhooking the cables from him, pulling them away and meeting Steve's blue eyes as he blinks up at James.  Finally James eases the mouth guard out of Steve's mouth and there's a choked gasp from the blond that turns into a body wracking cough.

"Steve." James' voice breaks on the name as he gently, so gently, pushes the wet hair away from Steve's face. 

There's a moment of silence, "Who the hell is Steve?" 


	4. Finding Their Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're done!! 
> 
> Again, thanks to Deisderium for the lovely art and to all the mods at the NASBB for their tireless work. <3 It's been a tremendously fun time and I'm actually really proud of this. 
> 
> Hopefully you've enjoyed this fic.

James just stares down at Steve who is shivering and staring back. Nothing feels real and the consequences of what Steve's words imply are echoing in his ears. But he  clutches Steve close and the  blond doesn't seem ready to complain about it either, just continuing to shiver as he presses closer to James. Who is now at a loss for what to  do. He spent so much of the past 24 hours blindly pressing towards this moment that  it's here and he  doesn't know what to do. 

Of course, then Sam is there, draping a large blanket over Steve and dropping a smaller one around James' shoulders, "Doctor's should be here soon to check on him." He side eyes Steve, "Hey big guy, you remember me?" 

Steve still shakes in James' arms but he meets Sam's gaze, confused and sounding exhausted, "You're familiar. You're both familiar like...but I don't understand what's going on." His voice sends James back into a shock wave of déjà vu. He shakes his head and helps Steve sit up a little more,  he'll have time to sort through whatever his brain's reaction to this is later. 

Sam's expression stays carefully neutral, "Alright pal, James here pulled you out without  any of the correct protocols  being followed so we just need to make sure you're doing okay physically then we can get you out of here and somewhere more comfortable." 

James has the good grace to look a little ashamed as he huffs and begins to pull away, meaning to get them both out of what is still a puddle of cold liquid. Steve's grasp on him tightens and good lord that's an emotion and a half. James really honestly don't have the time or energy to cry right now but damn does that make him want to. 

Sam watches him, expression so mild that James can feel the exasperation as he hefts Steve up into his arms. And okay. Bridal style was definitely easier when his husband had been 5 foot nothing and 100 pounds soaking wet. "Probably shouldn't move him." And there's that exasperation again in Sam's tone. 

Which James ignores. Like he always does.

James does take the stairs down off the  dais this time, which he considers a concession, and heads towards one of the  swivel chairs across the room and away from the mess. Natasha is standing at one of the terminals, tapping at the keyboard and squinting at the tiny screen. From  time-to-time cursing clicking fiercely. James grunts softly as he sets Steve down and begins to arrange the blanket around him better, aching at how confused and overwhelmed he looks.

"I think he will survive his unceremonious release." Natahsa's tone is also mild and that causes James to wince a little, "Abraham's formula didn't just recreate yours James. It perfected it." She looks at him even as Steve slumps forward to press his face into James' side, still shivering. "His healing factor will be better than both of ours by a considerable margin. It's why they had to keep him in on the cusp of cryo for the memory modification. His brain was healing itself almost as quickly as they were wiping him." She pauses a beat, expression going thoughtful as she gazes at Steve, "He'll need a doctor, but he'll survive."

James nods and absently wraps the towel around Steve's shoulders over the blanket. Ignoring how wet and cold he is as he carefully pulls Steve back and begins to dry off his face. Familiar eyes blink open as he carefully works the cloth over Steve's hair and he's frowning up at James, "He called you James. But that doesn't feel right?" His tone is confused, "I'm sorry I don't understand what's going on but that just...feels wrong."

Natasha stops her typing to look up at that, meeting James' gaze for a moment before taking her own steadying breath and turning away. Towards where Sam is attempting to divert non-medical Shield agents away from them. 

For his part James barely misses a beat once Natasha removes herself, a hand running though Steve's still damp hair over fresh scars that mirror his own, "That's because to you I'm Bucky. And I always will be." Steve's shoulders slump at that and his arms wrap around Bucky's body to pull him close again, like maybe that's all he needed to relax after everything.

#

James does not relax, not for hours. 

The field medical officers do eventually show up and confirm that  it's safe for Steve to travel. But Steve  doesn't trust them and if  he's honest with himself, James  doesn't either.  So he stays, through all of it. Not allowing anyone but Natasha or Sam to  assist with getting Steve up and out of the basement. Only getting into the transport once  he's confirmed it is Maria driving because he knows her. Steve knows her. Trust at this point is hard won and none of the Shield agents James  hasn't met warrants it. 

Natasha and Sam stay behind, Natasha has that air about her that tells James she is going to root out every trace of the data surrounding their experimentations and  delete it.  Doesn't doubt from the way Sam is hovering close that at some point  she'll make it home. As the transport van's door closes and James bodily stops a medical officer from injecting Steve with  something, he vaguely hopes she sleeps soon. Hopes that Sam  is able to sooth her nightmares. 

James is  gratified to find that the longer Steve is awake the more himself he is.  Maybe even more himself. The third time they  attempt to inject him with something at a red light  it's Steve's hand that catches the offending wrist and a very polite, "We said no. And I'm  gonna need you to respect that." There's a beat, "If you try it  again I don't think either of us will enjoy the results. So just don't." 

The hospital is worse. Once they are settled into a room and Steve in a hospital bed, no longer wet and in comfortable clothes, James firmly refuses to allow a nurse to take Steve's blood and the next saga begins. 

Doctor after doctor  are sent in. And each one James tells again, the only doctor  he'll allow access to Steve's bloodwork is Helen Cho. It takes 3 hours for her to appear, a period in which Steve quickly grows tired and James grows  more and more agitated. She does not bother giving James any grief for his paranoia in the way she might normally. Quickly and efficiently moving through the check up as she takes Steve's stats and draws blood. James hangs back, giving Steve space for the first time.

Once  she's done, she pauses by James and her expression is tight, "Natasha sent me some of the work Erskine was doing. I believe physically  he's fine beyond a little malnourished and dehydration. Psychologically...is out of my wheelhouse. But I'll be ensuring these are destroyed as soon as the needed tests are done." She pauses, "I will be sending in a nurse to hook him up to an IV. It will just be a saline drip with nutrients for him and something to help him relax. My  initial examination  indicates what he needs most is rest. It will be someone I trust." James' shoulders slump and he nods, "I'll be reviewing the information as I get it and if there's anything  concerning, I'll let you know right away." 

She leaves them then and James goes back to his vigil next to Steve's hospital bed, where his husband is finally relaxed enough that he's dozing. The nurse does come in, one James hadn't seen before but who introduces herself as Claire and walks them both through everything she's doing. Steve hisses slightly as the IV goes in and James can remember his own reticence for injections after the chair. How he worried that every needle that went into his body was a going to be a lie. 

He takes Steve's free hand and squeezes it gently until Clair is gone. Steve turns to look at him, eyes bright, still confused and James knows what Steve afraid looks like even if most other people can't tell, "Tell me something good." 

It takes a moment for James to process that and he hums, "You're my husband." Steve smiles at that, "Before we got married, we'd have sleepovers." James' tone is rough and he feels almost awkward revealing this part of himself to anyone, even Steve, "We talked a lot. About what kind of life we'd want if things were different." James breaks off, "We had the house we talked about. With...the yard and the kitchen you wanted...but mostly what I love about that house is that we dreamed it up together. Then we made it happen. Against the odds."

James goes quiet, gazing at his own hands now. Steve is right there, alive and breathing. The same but different in so many ways and now that they've been still long enough it's sinking in that Steve might be there but he doesn't remember. James can't decide if that's better or worse. Isn't this just loosing Steve twice?

A hand that is both familiar and not enters  James's view and takes one of his hands. James looks up at Steve and he's frowning, "I'm sorry I don't remember. Yet. But...I know that being with you is the safest I can remember feeling. And  maybe it won't be the same house. Or the same life. But I think I'd like to build something with you again?" 

James shoulders slump as he meets Steve's gaze and he finds himself smiling, "Stevie, there's no one I'd rather build something with." He squeezes Steve's hand softly before leaning close and kissing Steve softly, "You're safe. We're both safe. That's what matters. We've got our whole lives to figure out what new things we want to build together." 

#

It is a day and a half later and several tests before James finds himself in front of Helen Cho as she gazes critically at several of Steve's scans.  Finally, she lays it on her desk and gazes at James thoughtfully, "I've never lied to you about the extent of your own brain injuries and the damage your memory has sustained." 

James nods, "I know." He watches her, patiently waiting for her to get around to her point as she looks back at the MRIs on her desk. 

"I'm not ordering anymore brain scans. I don't think it would be wise for Steve to have  any more done for...the  foreseeable future ."  There's a hint of something in her tone and James nods. His expression  impassive but he nearly melts internally with relief. Hearing Steve beg to be let out of the MRI chamber  hadn't been easy for anyone. 

The silence stretches out between them again before finally, "Natasha had a hunch, and after looking at these scans, I'm leaning towards agreeing with her. Steve's healing factor is good enough that he will likely regain his memory." There's a pause before more softly, "He will regain all of his memory." 

For a brief moment James is elated, before the reality of what she's telling him sinks in and he blinks at her. James might have scant memories but the worst of his credited kills, the logs that make him wince to read aren't things he remembers. They're removed from him. What Helen is saying is that Steve might regain his memories of James, his mother, their friends but any memories of the torture or experimentation would come with it. 

James frowns at her, "How fast? Can you tell?" 

"Unfortunately, it would call for periodic brain scans and I feel like that would be more harm than it's worth." She sends James a tight smile, "You're both in for a hard road." 

James lets out a slow breath and nods, "Steve Rogers will shock us all I'm sure."

#

It takes another day for Steve to be released. And for lack of another place to go James takes him home. 

Natasha is waiting on their front porch, again in her black trench coat as she watches them get out of the cab solemnly. Steve sends her a polite, tired smile and James just quirks an eyebrow at her. 

They wordlessly let her into the house and she sits with Steve while James checks the perimeter. He doesn't hear what they talk about while he's gone, but Steve's hand is in hers when he gets back and she's not got that detached businesslike tone any longer. She clears her throat, "I took the liberty of upgrading some of your security measures." 

James grunts because  yeah .  He'd noticed. She ignores him. 

"Clint has been mentoring a small group of junior agents that will be taking turns keeping watch while we get the situation with Hydra sorted." Her tone brooks no argument, "War will not come quickly to the table and Pierce knows where you are. But James refused to find somewhere else." 

James flushes and looks away but before he can respond Steve is firmly saying, "This is our home. It feels right. They took enough without taking this away." 

Natasha nods, "The high council might need a statement from you both. Regarding what's happened."

James nods, "They can have it if they need it." 

Her gaze turns to him seriously, "You both don't need to be in the middle of this. Let Sam and I handle taking down the rest of Hydra. We  won't be alone and you both deserve...rest. To heal." 

"What about you?" Steve speaks before James can and there's a concern in his voice that has James aching to reach for him, "You both deserve to rest too. I have no right to just sit by when-" 

"You are not just sitting by." Natasha's tone is firm, "I am still learning how to be...a person that  is allowed to take breaks to take care of myself. But if I'd been through what you've been through you would be saying the same to me." She pauses and squeezes his hand, "You can't remember it, but you've been taking care of and fighting for the people around you for longer than anyone I've known. Let James take care of you this time. Take care of yourself. The fight will always be there waiting when you're ready if you want it." 

James meets her gaze when she turns it on him and nods slightly. 

She  won't leave until after several hours and  they've shared a light meal. It  isn't the same as before, but James thinks  maybe it could grow to be something similar. 

An hour after she leaves there is a knock at the door and James answers cautiously. A familiar unflappable delivery driver gazes at him  nonplussed as he answers the door. The process is the same. A signature and a carried passed to him with a small box of supplies. James is left blinking again as the delivery woman leaves.

Steve is just as confused as he joins Bucky in the entry way to peer into the carrier.  A very small white cat eventually turns to peer back at them, wide blue eyes blinking sleepily up at them. Steve  immediately lets her out and begins setting up the supplies for her as she begins sniffing cautiously. 

James is left with the card while Steve hunts for the perfect place for a litter box and the kitten attempts to jump onto a counter top. He opens the card and sighs at Natasha's handwriting.

"There's no replacements possible. But I thought  maybe you could both use a new beginning and someone to take care of. The shelter said her name was "Alpine". Change it if you want. She's yours now."

There's a small crash and Steve exclaiming, which has James' eyes closing in  exasperation . But  he's moving into the house to join Steve in coaxing the small creature down from on top of the refrigerator and something feels right.

#

When James was a young boy and he was told triumphant stories of true love conquering impossible situations by parents he barely remembers the stories always ended with an easy happiness. As an adult he was told  happy endings were fake. Lies told to give the weak hope. But as they move forward James thinks  maybe the truth is more complicated than he ever could have thought. 

Steve regaining his memories is stop and go. There are good days and bad days. Moments when he remembers his mother's face or their wedding day. And moments when he remembers the first time they froze him. Moments when Steve will let James hold him and days where he sits in the living room gazing into space because  he's seen himself in a mirror. But even on bad days James knows this is worth it. Knows that Steve wants to feel the same and is doing his best. And through it all  there's a small white cat, twining around their feet and hopping into their lap with a soft comforting purr of contentment.

Sam, potentially the healthiest of the lot of them, sends them both recommendations to therapists. Badgers them until they make appointments and reminds them that it  won't be a cure. No one said it would be. But there are small wins for every setback. And slowly those wins begin to outweigh the setbacks. 

Maybe sometimes James feels like  he's scraping himself raw in sessions, but he feels lighter than he has in months.  Maybe years . Potentially ever. Like  maybe he could learn to be Bucky for himself for his own sake instead of just as a  tangent to someone else's feelings for him. He  can't remember feeling that way before.

When Steve talks about therapy he talks about untangling memories. Of finding where the memories end and the fear begins. Of coping mechanisms to keep him grounded in a body that  doesn't feel like his own.  They're both having to relearn how to be people and sometimes it means things  aren't easy. Sometimes their trauma  doesn't mesh well. But at the end of every  day they go to bed and in the morning  they're together.

Natasha appears periodically to check on them and provide  grudging updates on how things are going with Hydra. She falls into an easy rapport with Steve as he remembers her  more and more . They begin reaching out to other friends as Steve feels ready to face them. And as time slips by Steve is closer and closer to being what he might consider to be healthy.

If he is forced to choose, James would say loves waking up to Steve's face pressed against the curve of his neck again. That the few moments right when they wake up and Steve's new larger body is pressed against his are the most precious. Alpine is usually pressed against some other curve of their body. Or lording over them as  she's meant to from the of their bed frame. 

These are the moments he feels the most like Bucky, and  he's slipping closer to being Bucky all the time every day.


End file.
